Salvation
by Zaray
Summary: The mission was simple enough; protect the boy and gain a ticket into heaven. Not fall hopelessly head-over-heels for him like some love-sick puppy.


Disclaimer:...I don't own and all that crap...

I'm pretty sure this has been done one million times but eh, I feel like being the idiot that makes it one million and one.. : P

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_**x**X**xA**fterlife**x**X**x** _

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**H**ell. It truly was a horrible and intimidating place. Ensured to forcefully imprint its disturbing image into his memories and mind, giving him threatening nightmares every night for the rest of his pitiful afterlife. Guaranteed to enslave him to paranoia; looking over his shoulder and peeking around every corner each chance he obtained. Driving him to the brink of insanity is its goal. Waiting for him to break; cry out for mercy, for forgiveness, while his body is all bloodied, bruised, and very exhausted. And all it does is laugh at his foolish existence, once in awhile uttering false promises but never presenting him with what he yearned for the most.

Freedom. _Salvation._

Hell. It's a clever thing, playing tricks on his mind all the while. Allowing him to relive the memories he held so dear, before ripping it away from him at the most precious part. Making him consider at times that he was indeed, alive again. Planting thoughts in his brain, like seeds, forcing him to believe that people were actually chasing him, aiming to kill and drag him back to that torturous place.

And he believed it all. Because he had no other choice but too.

He wanted to live again, to be resurrected. Just so he could repent for all his sins and free his already punished soul. But after being victim to Hell's ploys time after time, he understood that he'd never get that chance and accepted his fate. Or at least he pretended too. But once the torture commenced, he'd play the role as the pawn all over again. For some odd reason, a little spark of hope would ignite in his almost broken soul, refusing to be extinguished. It took over his already scarred mind; determination evident on his features.

And there he'd go again, like a broken record, searching for an escape. Forgetting that he had given up with trying only moments ago. Running, hiding, screaming, crying, and pleading again and again. Then he'd hear that maniacal laughter echoing off the walls surrounding his battered body and he'd promise himself that that would be the last time he would take part in this game.

Performing as the puppet to the puppet master was far too fatiguing.

And then the laughter would return, as if hearing his inner thoughts, piercing through the air like knives before evaporating into silence. Leaving his abused body curled into a ball, rocking back and forth with his hands clamped over his ears, wordlessly muttering to himself that everything would be okay.

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**H**e'd almost always awake in a small room after every incident. The rusty colored bricks were cemented in place forming the surrounding walls. Fragments were chipped off the edges, scratches visible on some. Blood stained the concrete floor underneath his weary body. He wasn't sure if it was his.

The room held no contents. No bed, no chair, no windows, no doors. Nothing. He felt like a caged animal, waiting for its master's return so it could be freed for a little while. His wounds were all healed, faint scars outlining his skin. He wasn't sure if they were from when he was alive or not. He pulled his legs to his chest, wrapping his arm around them as he placed his head gently on top.

The silence bit at his mind, attempting to coax his body into committing illogical actions. At first he tried to block it out, clamping his hands over his ears again. But he could still hear the ear-splitting noise. The slight _buzz_ of silence slid through his hands and rang through his ears, slamming into his ear drums, shoving him more and more towards insanity.

Anxiety coursed through his body, his eyes opening slightly, though he didn't remember closing them. He could hear the slightly audible _thumps_ from somewhere outside, his mind jumping to the conclusion that maybe he was finally being saved. But that horrendous voice sliced through the air, knocking any hope the boy once possessed back to whence it came.

The four walls positioned around the room began to shake violently. Bricks fracturing echoed throughout the room; dust gathered upon the walls flowing freely through the air around him. He proceeded to cough uncontrollably, dust occupying his lungs with every breath he inhaled. The walls surrounding him began to move towards his battered body sitting precisely in the middle of room, closing in on him. They came closer and closer, only standing a few inches away from him when they stopped abruptly. Sharp and pointy metal spikes protruded from the walls, injecting themselves into the outer layer of his skin.

A hushed whimper escaped his thin, pale lips as a few droplets of luscious, crimson blood escaped from his newly inflicted wounds. The spikes returned into their slots built into the walls, quivering dangerously again. The ceiling began to melt, its chromatic color oozing down the sides of the walls, blending in. Some escaped the bricks; the gunk falling onto his skin. A burning sensation rang through his body, taking sharp nips at his flesh, as it began to disappear little by little.

After his flesh vanished, it began working on his bones, as he let out an audible scream. It set his insides ablaze, his eyes turning blood-shot as hot tears streamed down his face. His head felt like it would explode; whatever descending down the walls and onto his body still eating away at him like acid. The voice had returned, finding the poor boy's tormented form quite amusing. A deep chuckle sung through the confined room, flowing quietly around the boy, agitating his troubled mind, before vanishing. Once again, leaving him bloodied and bruised with nothing but silence.

By some miracle he was still conscious, but barely. His eyes drooping from weariness as his mind began to shut down. The burning had stopped; everywhere from his waist down had disappeared without a trace, along with the entirety of his left arm. The walls around him collapsed with a thunderous _thump, _his battered body displayed in the middle.

A warm and soothing light surrounded his body, proceeding to form around him like a cocoon, licking away at his wounds. He liked the way it felt. It cast its eerie light around him for a few seconds longer before vanishing, leaving his injuries healed and his body parts returned. He sat up wearily, eyes scanning around his surroundings frantically as he growled in frustration, realizing that he had just played the fool again. The voice, which he had dubbed Hell in general, was like the King, ruling and conquering all around it.

And he? Riku was just its personal Joker, punished for his highness' amusement.

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Ok, so...I know I keep referring to Hell like it's a person, but I'll attempt to explain that in the next chapter, if anyone wants it. So, continue or delete? And also, tips to improve my writing, which I know is horrible, are always welcome. : )


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